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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27785782">housed by your warmth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexiley/pseuds/alexiley'>alexiley</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Hurt/Comfort, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Gets a Hug, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Needs a Hug, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Season/Series 02, Self-Harm, Skin Excoriation, i maybe projected a little...</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 01:13:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,374</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27785782</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexiley/pseuds/alexiley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon reopens his wounds. Martin stitches him back together.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>224</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>housed by your warmth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>self harm cw (scratching, skin excoriation)</p><p>reading this back jon seems a bit ooc for s2,, sorry about that</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon’s skin itches.</p><p>He clenches his teeth and slumps back in his chair with a disheartened creak, observing the contents of his desk over the rims of his glasses with a degree of frustration evident in every bone of his body.</p><p>Jane Prentiss is dead. Her worms are dead, rotting carcasses abandoned in the tunnels below the Institute. Jon survived and has the scars to prove it.</p><p>Still, he can’t quite shake the uncanny sensation of something crawling just beneath his skin, poking about, making him <em> itch </em> with it.</p><p>He sighs and reaches out for a statement file thrown haphazardly on the opposite end of his desk. Jon doesn’t get a chance to regret it as, almost immediately, the movement pulls at the bandages plastered to his arm which, in turn, tug on his skin, coercing a grimace from him as he hisses out through his teeth.</p><p>And he’s had enough.</p><p>He throws the file down in front of him and turns his attention to one of the offending bandages, wincing as he digs his fingers under the edge and wrests it off. The wound beneath it is round and an angry red that screams at him that it shouldn’t be disturbed. Jon doesn’t care.</p><p>The phantom itching doesn’t go away, and Jon starts to scratch absentmindedly as he shuffles through the papers laid out in front of him. He bites his lip in concentration as he scans the lines of barely legible handwriting, still scratching. It stings something awful, but he can’t bring himself to stop no matter how hard he tries to pry his hands away from the now reddening skin.</p><p>There’s a knock at the door, startling Jon out of his spiraling thoughts. The door creaks open before he can call ‘come in’ to display Martin, looking far more assured of himself than he had a few months previous, standing straighter, gaze more measured. Jon notices his smile is a touch more fragile though, one harsh word away from falling into an even harsher frown. Jon is positive, however, that he won’t just sit there and take the reprimand, not anymore. Prentiss has taken her toll on him too.</p><p>“Hey,” Martin waves a bit distractedly. “Thoughts on popping down to that sandwich shop for—Jon, what happened?!”</p><p>Jon jolts slightly at the sudden raised quality of Martin’s voice and only then follows Martin’s horrified gaze down to his arms, now laced with blood from his vicious scratching. Several more bandages are discarded on his desk where he must have placed them after removing them without noticing. It isn’t hard to tell that any healing progress has been set back completely, the wounds reopened and gushing red beneath his shaking fingertips. He swallows thickly, suddenly feeling quite ill.</p><p>“I...hmm.”</p><p>Martin abandons all pretense and hurries to kneel by his side, taking Jon’s hand in his seemingly without a thought. His face is contorted in a strange mixture of disgust and deep concern, both warring for dominance on his features as he brushes a gentle fingertip down the skin on Jon’s left arm. Jon winces, sucking in a strangled breath to which Martin quickly jerks his hand back.</p><p>“Sorry, sorry.” He shakes his head, jostling the soft curls of his hair. “Christ, Jon, what did you do?”</p><p>“I don’t…” Jon swallows again, suddenly finding it difficult to look directly at his skin without feeling the press of nausea at the back of his throat. “I’m fine, Martin, just need to...put the plasters back on,” he retorts, already trying to pull his arm back against his chest and out of both of their lines of sight. “I’m fine.”</p><p>“No, you’re not.” Martin’s mouth hardens into a harsh line that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, swimming with emotion that astounds Jon to no end; what has he done to deserve such sympathy? “Don’t just say you’re fine, Jon.”</p><p>Jon sighs impatiently. “Martin—”</p><p>“Jon,” Martin cuts him off, ducking slightly to meet his gaze, giving his hand a small squeeze. “Let me help you. Please.”</p><p>And what can he do? Jon lets out a breath and nods stiffly.</p><p>Martin nods his head in return and stands, letting his hand rest briefly on Jon’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”</p><p>He steps out of the office, and Jon is left alone with his thoughts. It’s only now that he begins to feel the terrible burning pain to accompany the reddened skin. He peers down at the bleeding pockmarks lining his arms, and his eyes start to burn as his vision blurs with sudden tears.</p><p>“—Alright let’s get you fixed up...oh, Jon.”</p><p>Jon sniffles pathetically and quickly brushes away any evidence of the tears streaking down his face. He carefully does not meet Martin’s gaze as he sinks back down beside him, now with a first aid kit in hand.</p><p>“I’m fine,” he mutters again, now with a harshness that doesn’t quite match the hoarse nature of his voice.</p><p>Martin gives him a pained smile but graciously doesn’t press. He opens the kit and sets to stopping any remaining bleeding and cleaning and rebandaging the wounds. Jon isn’t sure how long it takes but Martin refuses any help Jon offers, instead pursuing the task with a single-minded focus. His fingertips brush gently against Jon’s skin which, in any right, should make Jon shudder with discomfort, but all he feels is a burgeoning warmth at the care Martin displays with even the barest touch.</p><p>Soon his arms are once again covered in pristine white bandages. His desk has been cleared of the old ones, and all traces of blood have been washed away, but Martin is still tenderly holding Jon’s hands in his. His thumb grazes over Jon’s knuckles in a way that makes Jon’s skin tingle not at all unpleasantly. It’s a welcome relief, this kind touch; he finds he’s not sure what he’ll do if Martin stops.</p><p>“Jon,” Martin murmurs, eyebrows drawn up plaintively. “It’s none of my business, and you have every right to tell me to shove off, but,” here he pauses as if giving Jon a chance to stop him. When he doesn’t, Martin continues, his voice low and comforting. “Has this happened before?”</p><p>Jon considers shaking his head. He considers lying outright. But he is reminded of late nights back in uni, of sitting at his desk and taking all that anxiety out on his skin, of scratching until his arms are more gash than actual skin; <em> bad habit, just a bad habit. </em> He thought he’d finally gotten over it. Evidently not.</p><p>“Yes,” he manages quietly.</p><p>Martin nods gently. Everything about this man kneeling in front of him is gentle. His hands, his voice, his words, his presence. It makes Jon ache, the gentleness. For a moment, he considers pitching forward and letting Martin envelop him but quickly throws that thought aside. <em> What a stupid sentiment. </em> After everything, that’s very likely the <em> last </em> thing Martin wants from his paranoid and only slightly traumatized boss.</p><p>“Jon, can I hug you?”</p><p>Oh.</p><p>Jon wrenches his gaze away from where it was pinned to the soft brush of Martin’s hands on his and meets Martin’s eyes with his own, wide and glistening. Martin immediately flushes.</p><p>“Oh God, sorry that probably seemed really—”</p><p>“Y-you may.”</p><p>Martin’s mouth forms a small, silent oh before he flushes again, deeper this time, and leans forward. His arms come up around Jon’s shoulders, hands shaking slightly where they rest against his back, and Jon’s gone.</p><p>He rushes forward to meet him with barely a thought and buries his face in the crook of Martin’s neck and doesn’t let go. That warmth and gentleness he previously observed from Martin only feels stronger in this position, flush with Martin’s chest and breathing him in softly. Martin smells like dust and bergamot, of course, he smells like tea.</p><p>Martin hums faintly, and Jon has to be imagining the way he tightens the embrace for the barest second, pulling Jon in even closer and brushing his lips against his hair. And for a moment, it’s quiet. It’s peaceful. Jon feels <em> safe </em>.</p><p>Eventually though, much to Jon’s secret disappointment, Martin pulls away, and it’s back to their somewhat stilted, workplace-appropriate exchange.</p><p>“Tea, Jon?”</p><p>“Please.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>oh damn look how hard i can project</p><p>thank you so much for reading. feedback is literally the most amazing and helpful thing you can give me so please don't hesitate,, love you all &lt;3</p><p>my <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/alexiley">tumblr</a></p></blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
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